


Fineapple express

by catwalk



Category: X-Men: Days of Future Past (2014) - Fandom, X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: M/M, Recreational Drug Use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-30
Updated: 2014-12-30
Packaged: 2018-03-04 08:34:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,699
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3054908
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/catwalk/pseuds/catwalk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Erik and Charles may or may not be on a mission but something goes hilarious.<br/>There is some accidental drug use in this fic. And intended gayness. Kids, don’t do drugs - you might turn gay, etc. (Bad joke but you get the idea. Don't get any funny ones.)<br/>Also, a playlist for this:<br/>http://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PL9Cm-43ksRelXy3f_TZBqZyeym1MfjEtj</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fineapple express

Erik didn't even know he knew the lyrics, but obviously he did. Why was he rapping though, and under the table? And why was Charles singing Pharrell's part?  
Did he really care? They did the hands-in-the-aiiir-move and Erik hit it again:  
“We'll head to the hills, your dreams I'll fulfill/ We could do it how you want, cause I'm oh so real”  
Charles doubled over in giggles, Erik poked his arm, you need to see this! Charles tried really hard to focus and not to die of laughter.  
Erik stopped rapping suddenly. “I want more chocolate.”  
“I can take care of that,” Charles said and in a very theatrical and exaggerated way rolled up his sleeve and lifted his fingers to his temple.  
“Brownies, and make them sweet. Engage.”  
Immediately someone lifted the tablecloth and passed them a plate full of very chocolate-y cupcakes.  
“Ooooh,” Erik was impressed and Charles chuffed.  
“Play that again!” he exclaimed then. Unnecessarily loud, perhaps.  
“Certainly, Dr Xavier,” Erik made a motion towards something and the song started abruptly again.

 

At some point Erik was wondering who's party they were at. Everybody seemed quite young, sleepy and happy. He was grinding to Goldfrapp's Ride a white horse with someone cute and bearded when Charles decided it was time to cut in. Erik was cranky about it for about eight beats but then they both got their boogaloo back on. Charles grabbed Erik's hips and made him shake his tailfeather, who could disagree?

 

Erik was tap tap tapping away with his metal skills but he kept mistyping – first of all he was too happy to really focus on things, and second of all Charles was clinging on to him (his legs seemed to go all wonky, although he insisted that they were just groooovy), and either trying to probe his mind to figure out what song he was going for (blurry, challenging) or trying to change his mind about the song.  
“Enough- enough with the ABBA already!” Erik giggled, dropping Charles almost to the floor from laughter. “What do you think our hosts want to hear?” Erik glanced them and then turned back to the computer. One eye closed, jazz hand in action, he started typing but then Charles made a funny noise that made Erik's concentration break again.  
“What is it?” he turned to Charles again – Charles, who had the most comical cartoon-like face of shock on until he burst to laughter and they both doubled over again.  
“What what what?” Erik was giggling with Charles although he wasn't sure what they were laughing at. Sure? He had no fucking clue. But his face! His face! Charles, you meerkat!  
“C'mere, I need to whisper this,” Charles winked and beckoned with his finger. Considering that Erik's face was already 5cm away from him he had quite a hard time getting his finger between their faces but he somehow managed to.  
“Tell meeee” Erik was mewing. They dropped (dripped? It was slow after all) on the floor and slouched into a pile of soft limbs.  
Charles tried really hard to whisper, and he tried at least eight times to start the sentence. He ended up just spitting into Erik's ear seven times. Eventually: “I think we are kidnapped!”  
Erik let out a roar of laughter. “No waaaay”  
“Yes way!” Charles pulled him back in to whisper some more. Or, 'whisper'. “I just glanced at their minds and yeah, they are supposed to keep us hostages for something. Ain't that a hoot!”  
They laughed uncontrollably for ten minutes.  
“Hey, man, could you put some music on?” someone said from the couch.  
“Oh, suuuuuuure, of coourse,” Erik just pushed something in the general direction of the computer. He dropped a spoon. He tried again and succeeded at music.  
“Do you think we should leave?” Charles said.  
“Well, duh!”  
“Take some of the brownies with you though!”  
“You do that, I'll put on some more music.”  
“Just put some Bob Marley on and we'll be fiiiiine”  
Charles danced inconspicuously towards the table and started stuffing the pockets of his cardigan, one brownie by one, very sly, very smooth, absolutely no one noticed a thing.  
Making the playlist was really hard, Erik lost control constantly because of Charles's Haddaway-like moves and Erik himself realized how incredibly silly his jazz hands were. Why couldn't he just use they keyboard? Like, with his fingers?  
When that was done, they exchanged a very serious nod loaded with meaning.  
Charles jammed back to him and hip-bumped him. Then they started jamming towards the door. Behind the corner they switched to tip-toeing. Erik froze.  
“Don't you think you should do some- some- mindfuck thing? So they wouldn't notice us leaving?”  
“What did you put on the list?”  
“There's Stevie-hehehehe- Wonder next”  
“Ahahahaha this is like getting high with your dad”  
“Not my dad though”  
They giggled, crouched,  
“Why are we like this even?”  
“Because we're top secret ninja agents?”  
“Let's roll-ah,” Charles started towards the door again, still crouched, hands doing the Genesis-move.  
Erik followed him the same way as soon as he could get some control of his legs again. Fucking hell.

 

They poured out to the street. Stones? Back alley?  
“All riiigghht!” They slapped a high five and hugged each other.  
“We made it!” Charles was so happy he didn't let go.  
“We are exceptional!” Erik said and they giggled some more, staring into each other's eyes.  
Some time later somebody somewhere broke a bottle and there was yelling.  
“Oh yeah, should we move?”  
“Where are we even?” Holding onto each other they started looking around, darkness? More of stoned (heh!) paveways? This was definitely some back alley.  
“Let's go...there,” Charles nodded to the left.  
“Is it the right direction?”  
“I have a good feeling about this somehow.” Charles got to his feet and started to catwalk. “C'mon!”  
They got to a square, all stone, no answers. They picked one more back alley at random and all of a sudden Charles gasped.  
“Check the fuck out of that!”  
Erik staggered next to him to squint.  
“A- what?”  
“Gondoms! Condol-” Charles bent over giggling. “This is a catholic country!!”  
Erik didn't get it.  
“What are they called! We're in Venice!” Charles couldn't stop.  
“Gondolas?”  
“Yeah! Not no condoms, they have a pope!”  
Erik just stared at him.  
“You wouldn't know, you're Jewish.” Charles slapped his knee.  
Erik stared at him, mouth open, in too much disdain to form a reply.  
“I want an ice cream,” he said and stalked towards the gondolas.

“An ice cream?” Charles staggered after him. “Wait up!”  
“Yeah, there's a place nearby.”  
“How do you know?”  
“I'm Jewish, right?”  
“So you know all the gelaterias in Venice?” Charles thought it was hilarious and even more hilarious was that Erik's reasoning made no sense to him.  
“Left from here,” Erik was muttering to himself as he stormed off. Charles did his best to keep up. Everything was very colorful and the air smelled...weird? He wanted it to smell nice, he felt so nice. He lifted his cardigan's sleeve to his nose for comfort. Oo, chocolate!  
“Here!” Erik was victorious, and he did actually do a little dance with his arms in the air.  
“Good evening, my good sir!” he started with a massive smile.  
“'sera.” The man behind the counter was less than impressed. Charles decided stay in the background and lick his sleeve discreetly.  
“I would love to have two-three-no, four balls!”  
“Che tipo.”  
Erik couldn't make up his mind.  
Charles helped.  
“Otto euro.”  
Erik patted all his pockets. Charles helped with the patting, sleeve in his mouth.  
“Charles, do you have any money?”  
“Oh that's what we are doing.” Charles patted his pockets too. “Well we got brownies here. And-” He tried the pockets of his jeans and pulled out a stack of euros. “Liberia's deficit.” He handed a few 50 euro bills to Erik who gave one of them to the clerk. He should've counted the change, but didn't, he just gave it all back to Charles who almost stuffed it all into the brownie pocket but then didn't.  
“Look at this!” Erik was exalted. His face shone in the moonlight, Charles squinted and stared.  
They started walking. Erik was able to speak after one ball. Charles giggled at the amount of balls, the word balls, balls in general. Erik has four balls.  
“We are on Piazza San Marco now,” Erik said. “They used to torture and burn people over there,” he pointed. “And Ernst Hemingway got drunk there.”  
“How do you know all this?”  
“Venice is where the word 'ghetto' comes from.” Like that explained everything.  
Charles took Erik's arm and leaning on Erik's shoulder scooped some brownie from his pocket. It was very pleasant, sucking on spacecake and enjoying the view.  
“The stars are out,” he pointed.  
“So are we.”  
“True.” Charles tiptoed to kiss Erik's cheek. He tried his best to wipe the chocolate stains away.  
Erik obviously was out of himself for he didn't notice. Charles relaxed back against Erik's shoulder. How nice it was, getting kidnapped and all.  
“What do you think we should do next?” he wondered hazily.  
“We have so much money we could get drunk at Hemingway's favorite bar.”  
Charles lifted his eyes to Erik's. When did his head become so heavy? Erik should do something to his bony shoulders though. “Is it nice?”  
Erik shrugged. “Not really. But it doesn't have windows, it has tablecloths and dudes in white suits who are forced to be polite to us.”  
Charles giggled. “Let's go there then. I want to make them serrrrrve us.”  
Erik laughed. “I'll have at least eight Bellinis.”  
“I'll have an 8 ball!”  
“You'll have my balls!”  
Charles giggled some more. “This is like in the Lord of the Rings.” He lazily gestured with his hand. “You'll have my ball!”  
Erik did the same. “And my axe!”  
“Should we just check in some hotel and watch TV?”  
Erik shrugged. “Might as well. Let's get one with room service.”  
“Should we worry about the kidnappers?” Charles at least tried to be sensible, a bit.  
“Nah, let's just use some fake name.”  
“Bob.”  
“Marley.”  
“They'll never find us.”


End file.
